Spark of Darkness
by LeonaWriter
Summary: In Ancient Egypt, there lived a man who believed in neither law nor justice. . . as those in power saw it. No, he has a different idea of what Justice is. It's a sort of Revenge... and here is his reason why.
1. Dry Tinder and Warm Hearts

A Spark of Darkness

Chapter one – Dry Tinder and Warm Hearts

"But – _Father_! That's just not _fair_!"

The disgruntled cry of a small boy rang through the mud brick house in the village of thieves. Passersby could clearly see the scene unravelling inside as the door, a thin piece of wood, was open. The older man didn't back down, though – he continued as though he hadn't been interrupted.

"It doesn't have to be fair or just. It just is. You, my boy, are not going anywhere out of this town. Not today, not tomorrow – certainly not until those troops are gone. The scouts have been reporting that they've been heading in our direction and I do _not_ want you found."

"I won't be found, Father. I just want to visit-"

"I said no."

The older man's features narrowed and sharpened. He understood what his son was going through. Anyone in the village would. It just wasn't in a Kul Elnan's heart or soul to feel comfortable when trapped in any way, but he wanted his son safe. And for him, safe meant being around the people he trusted the most, people he would trust in a close battle against said troops – not out-of-towners who might turn in his precious person, just because he was one of them, and to cap that, a strangeness. Who else had such pale eyes and such pale hair? He had heard of a girl closer to the city, but that was probably just talk. None other than the Spirits of Ra had skin as pale as they said she had. His Akeifa had normal, healthy Egyptian skin, but even just his hair and eyes were enough for some people. None of the boy's brothers or sisters had the same look. It made most people scared.

He looked again at his son, and at the pouting expression on his face. His stern mask slipped.

"Look, my BaKuRa," he said, kneeling down so that he was at eye level. "How about we all go out of the village to one of the big cities when the troops are gone? Your sister needs a new dress . . ." He trailed off, wheedling.

Akeifa humphed and turned away. "Even if we _do_ go, I'm not going to end up _doing_ anything. You never let me! I can _too_ steal big stuff."

"Listen." He reached out a hand and turned the small face toward him. "You are still young. You will have many chances to rob the Pharaoh's coffers." Grinning, he added, "If I let you take everything now, where would we get our food next month?"

Finally, his son laughed. Caught himself as though it had been a bad thing.

"But Father. If we can go to one of the big cities after the troops are gone, will I also be able to visit my friends?"

The elder thief and ex-tomb builder laughed expansively. "You can. Just as long as I can come too."

Akeifa's face brightened. He was still young enough that he _liked_ doing things with his father. They didn't start getting independent for another few years yet.

"Then that means I can still go and see my friends in the village?"

His father put on a show of being affronted. "Did I ever say you couldn't? Of course you can. So long as you stay within the walls, and don't get caught out."

"You don't need to worry about that, Father!" the boy said with great bravado. "I'm the _best_ at hiding. And at running. Even you haven't caught me yet, Father!"

He chuckled, and sent the boy on his way. A few moments later, pale white-blue hair poked in around the doorway again, blue-lilac eyes trying their best to look stern.

"And Father? Please don't call me that again. I don't care for the Pharaoh, but Mother says you insult the _Gods_, and that's _bad_."

And with that, the one he had nicknamed his Soul and Spirit of Ra really did vanish.

I know I said in my profile that I wasn't going to post this for a while, but I've been mostly inactive recently, and wanted to give those who watch me (and those that don't) a reason to believe that yes, I am still alive, and yes, I am still writing. Without giving too much away (hopefully) this is a tie-in to the HP Coming Shadows series. Yes, you heard me right. Series. Be prepared for blood, gore and trauma in coming chapters, though (obviously).


	2. Run for Your Life, Ready or Not

Spark of Darkness

Chapter two – Run for Your Life, Ready or Not

Akeifa – sometimes called BaKuRa – ran along like a tornado on legs. He liked running. Running like the wind, running like there was someone after him, running like he was free as a bird, running into people – oopsie, was that your purse, your ring, your pretty? Running was _fun_. _And_ he was good at it. Giggling as little boys are allowed to do, he dodged across a road, through a lady's legs, and was far away before she even noticed her skirts were ruffled. He moved out of the way quickly before the street-seller noticed his apple was gone, threw it as he ran to the kid who was sitting across the road. He practically flew through the streets and alleyways, knowing them like the back of his hand.

Outside of his home quarter of the town, he was no one. No one noticed him when he was there, and everyone noticed when he'd passed.

He was, in fact, going somewhere specific. Over at the other side of town, but closer to the centre than home was. His own little hideout. A place where he could play Priests and Thieves with his friends. A game that was played by rich and by poor, those in the town of Kuru Eruna had turned it on its head; the aim of the game was to outwit the priests and trick the Pharaoh. For Akeifa's games, however, there were often _two_ Pharaohs. He said it was because it wasn't fair that the Pharaoh got all the power. So, in his games, if there were enough of his gang allowed out, One of the boys would play the Pharaoh in charge of the Priests and Akeifa would almost always play the Pharaoh in charge of the Thieves.

Unfortunately, this time he was disappointed. There were only five others waiting for him there. Hardly enough for a ten-a-side game. Three boys and two girls. One of the boys was a couple of years older than him, and the one who most often played the Pharaoh-in-charge-of-the-Priests. He had a stuffy attitude and liked rules a lot, but wasn't afraid to do something out of line if it helped his friends. The other two were both younger; one with a continual snotty nose and the other was a blowhard and a liar who sucked up to anyone who seemed to have more power than him. One of the girls was his age while the other just under a year younger than him. Both were also friends with either one of his sisters or one of his sisters' friends.

"_I_ wanna play Pharaoh this time."

The snotty-nosed boy was whining again.

"We're not playing that game, stupid," the Pharaoh of Thieves said with impatience and not a little disappointment.

"Why not?"

"Not enough players."

"Why not?"

"Because I say so." It was a term he'd heard his father use, and it had always worked for him.

"Then what _are_ we going to play?" This time it was one of the girls asking. Rebecca, as her name was, didn't look much of a Rebecca. She was his age and dressed like a boy. Her hair, although short, was loose and open around her shoulders. Her name had been given to her because her mother had taken a strange fancy to the so-called exoticness of the Hebrews' names.

Everyone stared at Akeifa.

"What BaKuRa wanna play?"

Akeifa crossed his arms and glared at the little girl who had dared to use his father's pet name for him. The little girl squeaked and hid behind the ten-year-old. He smirked, not liking it when people called him that. Then he grinned, his posture changing in moments from accusing to prideful.

"Hide and seek!"

There was an instant clamour about who would get to be the seeker this time around. Out of everybody, only Akeifa himself didn't want to seek – a thief always had to be able to hide well, and only yesterday had he discovered the very best hiding spot in the whole town. No one would find him _there_.

When it was finally decided that the snot-nosed kid was going to be the one looking for them and he started to count, the others were off and gone.

The five of them scattered to the winds. Some to houses, some to roofs. Some to pots and some to carpets. And one in particular to a hideaway, a secret place only he knew about.

None of them could have known about the troops only hours away, at their head the brother of the very Pharaoh himself.

Akeifa, sometimes called BaKuRa, had forgotten that his father had even mentioned troops, only that he wasn't to go out of the town.

Only that he wasn't about to get caught.

* * *

He's so cute when he's little and all innocent like.


	3. Hide My Dreams

Spark of Darkness 3

Chapter three – Hide My Dreams

Akeifa found his hiding place with ease. It was a little hollow in between a cluster of run-down buildings, just big enough for one small boy.

He waited.

And he waited.

And still no one found him.

His heart did little leaps, exultant that he really _had_ chosen a place where no one would find him. Then, as he waited some more, boredom set in. He looked at Ra. It was already just coming into the middle of the day, when the sun scorched everything it touched, as if the god himself was angry. It would be a fool's errand to go out now.

So he lay back to wait.

And fell asleep in the shade of his hiding place.

Where he wasn't found by adult or by child.

Where he wasn't woken up by market cries or worried parents, annoyed friends or rival gangs.

He dreamt of mountains of food so big he made himself sick just looking at them. He dreamt of Priests, who tried to catch and punish him for drawing silly pictures on the walls of tombs when he'd gone with his father once. He dreamt of his mother, who had always cared for him. She sung, of lands where milk and honey flowed easily. Where people didn't have to steal, didn't have to fight, didn't have to strive, didn't have to . . .

He dreamed of fire.

He dreamed of fire and smoke and something else that left a coppery tang in his mouth, like he'd been licking coins.

In the end, it was the taste of death in his mouth that woke him up.

And here we get the start of trauma.


	4. Don't Get Caught

Spark of Darkness 4

Chapter four – Don't get Caught

He woke up to darkness, having slept through the whole day without anyone finding him.

There was shouting. There was screaming. He could hear people crying, and he could see people dying. Torches moved through the streets, casting shadows onto the walls. He tried to close his eyes, but the images burned their way into his head, the screams didn't have to replay themselves because they were _still screaming_.

_That was the apple man,_ he thought faintly. _From this morning. He shouted at me for taking one_.

_That was the old man who told the children stories from the big cities. He'd been an entertainer before he came here._

Akeifa scrambled out of his hiding hole, knowing that no matter how good it was, it wouldn't help him if he was spotted.

_That was – oh, Ra! That was -! _But he knew that praying to Ra would do no good. It was night time, and Ra had been eaten by Nut. Ra would not be able to help him until morning. _Anubis, take care of my friend in the afterlife-_

He peered out from his spot and wished he hadn't. The troops from the news the scouts had told Father were killing people every way he looked. People he knew.

The Village of Kul Elna had only had one hundred inhabitants. As such, everyone knew each other. Through the generations since the town had become a den of thieves, very few people weren't related in some way or other, however far back in the family tree. They mostly kept themselves to themselves, and even the children had hardly any friends or acquaintances out of town. It wasn't a place that tourists went, and travellers were often robbed well before they ever got too close. No one was away because they had all been concerned about the troops they'd seen coming towards the village. They'd stayed in case they might have been caught out alone. And now they were being slaughtered.

Akeifa stepped back, tripped, squeaked from the fall. He made an effort to hide himself quickly before he was found by the next platoon.

"Damn thieves!" One was laughing as he killed one of Akeifa's older friends.

"Cursed Tomb Robbers!" another growled. "Their lives are worth more dead, serving their country with their blood!"

One boy, just into his manhood, saw him. His eyes widened. His mouth opened and he started to yell something, but was cut off before he could finish.

Akeifa tried to run. He wanted to. _Brother!_ His mind kept crying out. _That was my brother!_ Brothers were supposed to protect each other. But what happened when brothers couldn't protect each other? _I can't do anything_, he wept. _Anything. If brother couldn't do anything, _I_ can't_. He was still trying to run when he found himself blocked off again, with people running away from the soldiers every which way. He ran back the way he'd come, only to trip on a fallen beam that had come down with the fires. He didn't even notice when he scraped his knee, only focused on surviving the night.

He heard someone shout in the distance, screaming for their boy. His throat stuck. _Father!_

"Bakura! My boy! My Bakura! Where is he? Where's my boy, damn you?!"

Akeifa opened his mouth, but what came out was a silent, hoarse, scream. _Father! Father! Mother!_

He couldn't let himself be found. He just couldn't.

"Bakura!"

_Can't get caught can't get caught can't get caught_-

His father's shouts stopped.

He still couldn't cry.

_Mother!?_

He couldn't hear her.

_Mother had gone to the outer edge of town, today,_ he remembered with an odd feeling of detachment. _I probably never even was awake yet when she died_.

For some reason, his stomach had stopped feeling like it wanted to throw everything up. There was a strange feeling in him; as if none of this was real, none of it was really happening, as if he'd just wake up tomorrow and it would all have been a really, _really_ bad nightmare. As if he was just living in something that was happening around him, but didn't actually affect him. It was cold.

And now they were doing something else. Something that even he, as the son of a Grave Robber, was uncomfortable with, not least because it was the bodies of people he knew.

They were taking away the bodies. Moving them. Not just touching them but carrying them. All to a certain place.

To the centre of town.

And as they moved the bodies, one white-haired little boy followed after, still making sure that he wasn't caught.

. . .and blood. . .


	5. Spark Up The Flame

Spark of Darkness 5

Chapter five – Spark Up the Flame

The soldiers' talk as they headed towards the centre of town was all along similar lines; that the dirty tomb robbers had deserved what they got, but also that none of them knew quite what was going on. Only that there was some kind of ritual going to take place, and that it was one of the Pharaoh's priests who was in charge. That the whole business had been approved of by the Pharaoh himself.

At the centre, outside the door of the building the head priest had chosen, they turned over the bodies to the priests, who then carted them down into the bowels of the deep underground room below.

Neither group were aware that they were being tailed by a wild-eyed little boy, who was treading carefully along behind them, the mantra always in his head of _don't get caught_. He had long since overheard the soldiers' talk, and while he was following them he thought and remembered what the Pharaoh had once said.

"_Justice is in the name of the Gods."_

The Pharaoh thought that he was a god. Of course, the thieves of Kul Elna had never fully been able to believe that – it was an occupational hazard that as a tomb thief, you just _couldn't_. Except now, Pharaoh was certainly acting like he thought he was one. Akeifa didn't know what kind of justice it was that went around destroying peoples' homes, but he knew that he didn't like it. He didn't like it _at all_. He had used to tolerate the Pharaoh. As a thief, it was fun to think that there was someone he could one day thwart and everyone else would look up to him. Now, he didn't like the Pharaoh. His father had always said that it was a strong word to use for anything, but right now Akeifa thought the Pharaoh deserved it, and father wasn't here any more.

Right now, Akeifa _hated_ the Pharaoh.

But he didn't let anything show of his new resolution as he silently followed the last of the priests down the steps to the great chamber below. For a moment he stared, forgetting everything in the thought that he hadn't seen this before, that it was big, that it was grand.

Then he saw what was going on. The priests were all gathered around two things – a great pot, a cauldron, made of gold. His eyes went wider, _wilder_, when he saw what was _in_ the pot. Despite being numb already, his knees buckled, his eyes watered and he felt like he was going to be sick. _No. No! I can't. If I do, I'll get caught. I can't get caught!_ Instead, he concentrated on not-feeling, like he had before, and on the other thing he'd seen. It looked like how his father had described mummies, the great golden cases that the important people rested in once they were dead. Except this one didn't have a dead person in it; it had seven weirdly shaped holes instead.

The contents of the pot had started to melt and boil, demanding the priests' attention and also his, whether he wanted it or not. It was poured into the not-mummy, hole after hole filling up with what should have been red with blood but was actually a strange kind of gold when it came out. As they cooled, they hardened into shapes that looked like treasures of some kind. Treasures that glinted at him, eyes that looked through him, shining power that still screamed in his ears.

The priests didn't say anything. Just picked up the items from where they had been formed and left. Akeifa dashed to find a place where he wouldn't be seen as they went back up into the darkness. Once more, he followed them out, but this time tried to get _away_. His legs had started shaking, his body trembling. The sick feeling that he had been trying to keep at bay was slowly climbing back up to taunt him.

Around a corner he stumbled. Unable to hold himself up any longer, there he collapsed.

* * *

The start of insanity to the Bakura we all know and love begins in earnest. Oh, and coincidentally, The chapter title comes from a Christian song.


	6. Adjusting

Spark of Darkness 6

Chapter six – Adjusting

He could still hear them marching past, although none of them bothered to look around his corner.

He could still smell them, blood and sweat and drink, like there was, had been, in old man Akher's inn.

He could still taste it.

The taste of death and worse than death in the air.

The taste of his vomit, dribbling out as he lay prone.

He wanted to hack and cough, but they were still here. Were they still here? They might be.

And he wasn't going to be their next victim.

He was going to . . . going to . . .

He blacked out.

He woke up to birds and bright sunlight. Hacked and peeled himself off the ground, spitting bits out of his mouth and shivering despite the heat. Once he was able to stand again, his feet carried him towards home, whether or not there was anyone there. He knew there wasn't. But there would be food and water.

_Drip_.

He could still see them, through dry and sore eyes. Shadows. As if he was seeing ghosts. Like his mind was rejecting the very idea that the night had ever happened.

_Drip_.

He followed his feet, following old route after old route that didn't exist any more. He couldn't run – he'd fall over again and wouldn't be able to get back up, and then he'd be no use to anyone.

_Drip_.

His eyes stung, and from more than just the sun and not having had enough to drink.

_Drip_.

He looked down as if in a dream, and saw red staining the dirt and stone under his feet.

_Drip_.

He was . . . bleeding? He looked down at himself to see the where it was coming from, but found only the kind of cuts and bruises that would have been normal if he'd been playing a particularly out of hand game of Thieves and Pharaohs. A hand went up to his face, and came back down coated in red.

He looked back up as the pain finally started to set in only to see the place he had once called home. Except now there wasn't anyone else there. Usually, he'd come home, and mama or papa would be waiting for him and there were usually a few of his brothers and sisters still there, squabbling as usual. Their neighbours would be shouting and somewhere there would always be a baby crying. Usually more than one.

Now, there was silence. Stillness. Emptiness.

And the Pharaoh would pay.

The hard feeling in his throat and the wetness behind his eyes disappeared at the simple thought. The Pharaoh _would_ pay.

A small boy called Akeifa had deemed it would be so, and by Duat, it _would_ happen. Somehow.

He wanted to scream, to let everything out, but that, he knew, wouldn't work. It wouldn't bring his people back. He'd seen women and men who had lost people do that and it hadn't worked for them, so why should it work for him? They were grownups and he was a child. His people had screamed as they'd died, but it hadn't saved them then. Why should the gods treat him any differently?

"_Justice is in the name of the gods."_

His father had always told him that the world wasn't fair. He'd always had a strange look on his face when he'd told his son that. But what had happened . . . that nightmare . . . surely, _surely_, that wasn't fair either! And the Pharaoh, who he had _heard_ the soldiers say had ordered it, thought that it _was_?! _That_, he thought to himself, _isn't my idea of- can't be- my father can't have ever thought of _that_ as justice!_ He remembered, saw as if it was happening again, his father calling out to him and using his pet name. There had been more hatred and fear in that voice than he could ever remember hearing before in his life from anyone. _Well, then. I don't care about the Pharaoh! I don't care about his gods! It's not fair it's not fair it's not fair. . . It's not right . . . I want to kill him. I lived with everything, lived here all my life and now this happens and it's not _fair_. If his idea of 'justice is that then he's lying. He's got to be. He can't just go around saying and doing different things ''cause – 'cause . . . it's not _my _idea of justice_.

He started laughing, at first coughing because of all the sand in his mouth and throat but then stronger. _'Justice is in the name of the gods', huh?_ He laughed at the irony. No one else knew. No one else would care. No one else would believe him. And the gods didn't care. _Then if that's true, then I'll make my justice in the name of me_, he snarled at an imaginary image of a Pharaoh. Akeifa laughed again, remembering his father yelling out to him '_Bakura_!' '_Bakura_!'. Bakura. Ba-Ku-Ra. Soul-and-Spirit-of-Ra. The name of a god.

Akeifa reached up a hand to his face again and smeared his hand over the bloody slashes, crouched down and slapped the bloody hand against the ground.

_From this moment on_, he swore, _I am no longer Akeifa son of Akhan. I _am_ Bakura. I'll do things to my justice, and in my name. I swear to the unmade graves of my people, I _will_ kill the Pharaoh_.

* * *

Chapter title comes from another fanfic, same basic story. I made up his dad's name. Oh, and I managed to get the scar in. I read once a fic that had him falling onto a couple of swords or something, that being the origin. I'm going for something a bit more mundane, unfortunately. Also unfortunately, this isn't finished. It could be, but it isn't.


End file.
